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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26824849">a simpler time</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/irl_hellraiser/pseuds/irl_hellraiser'>irl_hellraiser</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Ao no Exorcist | Blue Exorcist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, first fic ive posted and its this fucker, mmm religious trauma, not beta read obviously, yukio seek help</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:42:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>950</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26824849</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/irl_hellraiser/pseuds/irl_hellraiser</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a time when Yukio Okumura believed in God. That was a simpler time.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>a simpler time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is my first time writing here and I decided to throw out this short drabble/one-shot about my all time favorite character and number one bastard because I love him but. god. this boy needs therapy. </p><p>regardless I hope you enjoy &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It started when he was born, when he believed in God.</p><p> </p><p>     He had been able to see everything, everything no one else could see with the blind eye. The things that sat in the shadows, in the corner of his shared room with his older brother at night, and in his peripheral vision, just outside the view of his rounded glasses frames. Sometimes, he took his glasses off, so they would be blurry. He held comfort in his poor vision.</p><p> </p><p>     If anyone else had noticed the monsters in the dark, they never showed it- he, on the other hand, trembled in fear, making everyone around him wonder just what had gotten into the skinny little boy that lived in the old monastery?</p><p> </p><p>     When he started school, his fears only became worse, but not of the monsters. Bullies were his new fear, the bigger kids who were stronger and couldn’t see what he did. Their fists and harsh words made him feel useless, humiliated, and smaller than he ever had been. He never fought back, so his brother would come to his rescue regularly for years, chasing them off with his ferocious attitude and naive confidence. This didn’t make him feel any better.</p><p> </p><p>     When he turned seven, he couldn't take it anymore.</p><p> </p><p>     He barely remembered it, if he were being completely honest. He was crying his eyes out, vision blurry from hot tears and face red from heaving breaths in and out. His knobby knees and skinny legs shook from retching out sobs as he laid there, wherever he was. His lungs hurt, and his head felt fuzzy like it was full of cotton. All he wanted was to stop seeing the scary monsters in the dark, to stop being beat down everyday in school for being crazy- because he knew he wasn’t crazy.</p><p> </p><p>     Then his father appeared- like the messiah, there he stood over the boy, his warm smile and grey hair and pure intentions making him glow like something from heaven. His soft and encouraging words gave his son confidence, to be the best he could be, to protect his older brother from whatever may come for him, and simply to protect himself. He had always hated how weak he was, and agreed to join his father to be stronger. Nothing could stop him at this moment- not even the consequences to follow.</p><p> </p><p>     That was a better time, when Yukio Okumura believed in God.</p><p> </p><p>     At twelve, he became an exorcist, just like how Shiro Fujimoto trained and raised him to be. He was a protector of the people, a fighter against all evil, and best of all, he was stronger than Rin. He was finally able to fight back for himself. It was all he had dreamed about, since that day several years ago… so why did Yukio feel like there was still something missing? Why did he still feel so weak?</p><p> </p><p>     It was when he and Rin turned fifteen that everything started to fall into place and fall apart at the same consecutive moment.</p><p> </p><p>     The funeral for their father was simple, and short. Not many people came, and to many it would seem that someone as unimportant as they usually are had passed. Despite his high standing in the community and (unbeknownst to Rin) his paladin title, everyone knew he would have wanted it just like this. It rained that day, and the men at the monastery mourned their beloved priest and guidance that the church had lost. Yukio didn't cry.</p><p> </p><p>     When he found out about Rin joining him at True Cross, going to the cram school, studying and working to be an exorcist just like he was, Yukio should have been ecstatic. His older brother finally shared something in common with him besides a birthday and bloodline, their interests met, and there was a middle ground with Yukio playing teacher and Rin the student. </p><p> </p><p>     But he wasn’t.</p><p> </p><p>     If anything, Yukio was angry. Angry at his father, at Rin- but mostly with himself. When was the last time he wasn't..?</p><p> </p><p>     The rage that bubbled within him did nothing to counter and squash the feelings of resentment he felt. The hatred burned hotter than any hellfire Rin produced from his sword, and it hurt. It hurt worse than any injury Yukio had gotten in training or on the field. It hurt more than when his own father died and he found his body. It hurt more than when he realized he still was not strong enough.</p><p> </p><p>     He knew he fucked up in that classroom on the first day of cram classes, pointing a gun in Rins face, finger on the trigger, safety off, and absolutely nothing on his mind but the idea that he could end it all right now, right here. It would make everything simple again, Yukio thought. Everything would finally be normal, and he would be strong again.</p><p> </p><p>    Of course, it didn’t play out like that.</p><p> </p><p>     Rin acted as if nothing happened. He continued his role as the student and loving brother that uplifted Yukio and told him he was great at everything and perfect, as he always had. Yukio remained angry with his very being, and tried his damn hardest not to let it show.</p><p> </p><p>     There was a time when Yukio Okumura believed in God. </p><p>     Now when he looks in a mirror, he realizes that there is nothing but hell in his future, and there's never been a single god to believe in. The hymns and Sunday school classes prepared him for nothing, because there was nothing, because if a god did exist, why did he let these things happen?</p><p> </p><p>     There was a time when Yukio Okumura believed in God. That was a simpler time.</p>
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